Death Would Be Better Than This
by A.L.R.iter
Summary: This plot is still expanding, but it will probably centre around Chuck, Crowley, Sam, Dean, and other characters. Action, Adventure, Angst, all the stuff that makes fangirls and boys cry and go 'squee' in the night. Setting rating at M because I don't know what content future chapters will hold yet.


Crowley was keeping an eye on Chuck, he knew he was a Prophet, and should he need intel on the Winchesters, he would be his source. So he had his demons keep a close tab on Chuck's whereabouts. Crowley nodded to his demon Gerald, word was that Chuck was on the move to Manhattan, why Manhattan Crowley did not know. Crowley told Gerald to keep a closer eye on Chuck, as soon Crowley would make his move to have a talk with Chuck. A one to one, which he was going to enjoy very much.

Four more weeks had passed and Crowley had told Gerald to keep this spy session low profile so that Chuck wouldn't find anything out about his snoops out of the blue or anything. Last thing he needed was Chuck knowing he was still around. Soon Crowley got up from his throne and straightened his suit. It was time to pay the Prophet a proper visit.

He snapped his fingers, appearing in Chuck's study. He looked around "Bit of a pigsty is it not?" Crowley said looking at Chuck. Crowley saw the papers and books lying all over the place and Chuck sitting on the sofa in his underwear half dressed. Crowley looked the famed Prophet up and down, unamused. THIS was one of Heaven's lost property? What a disappointment. Was this really the guy? He really was a marshmallow. So Crowley stood there waiting for Chuck to answer him. What a ninny, no respect for royalty. It was going to be fun torturing this wimp.

"Your... Your accent... and clothes... you must be... Crowley. Oh God, I've written about you... You... you actually... torture people. Oh Jesus, are you gonna torture me!?" Chuck began to panic and scurried behind his sofa.

Crowley chuckled and followed Chuck around the room, he dragged him back away from hiding behind the sofa and threw him back on his seat holding a blade to his neck. "Now Chuck, listen to me I may or may still torture you if I get some info from you. Best you start talking. So, WHERE ARE THE BLOODY WINCHESTERS?"

"I-I-I don't know!" Chuck stammered and tried to edge his neck away from the blade, all but praying to melt into the sofa. He could feel himself getting dizzy and like he may pass out. Damn it he was such a coward. He was faced with one of his most terrifying 'book characters', that he REALLY wished they were JUST characters and not actually real, and holding weapons to his neck. To be completely honest, one would think that would in a way make him GOD over what happens, but he hadn't seen this part yet, and he was really freaked out. "What else do you want from me?! I'm just a prophet, I don't actually dictate what happens in the books! If I don't know, then I DON'T KNOW!" Chuck began to whimper and beg "Please, please don't hurt me!" Chuck kept glancing down at the blade that was way too close for comfort. 'Oh, God!' Chuck thought to himself. 'This is it, this is how I die... tortured and killed by the king of Hell... what a shitty life...'

"I WANT Moose and Squirrel. So you better figure it out if you want to LIVE." He said and edged the blade closer almost piercing his neck. Crowley was enjoying this, he wanted to torment Chuck ever so much, Crowley loved making people suffer and scream and beg for mercy. And when he found out that his Archangel had been SNUFFED OUT, well, the playful banter was eagerly stashed away and the fun, and torture was back on the table!

"Please. Please don't hurt me STOP! I- I don't know... right now I have only been editing old scripts! I haven't had any visions of them recently, nothing that would help you find them! Don't you have Dean's number on speed dial anyway!? What do you need ME for?! I... I don't control the visions, I don't know IF or WHEN the next one could be... But holding a blade to my neck w-won't make me have a vision!" Chuck was trying to make logic with a demon, what had his life come to? He was holding his hands up in surrender, wishing he could just close his eyes and make this all be a nightmare... but with his luck it would come true anyway... it happened with the Winchesters... damn his luck.

Crowley shook his head, loathing the Prophet and his very existence. "Fine, let's try some motivation then, shall we? Sick 'em boy!" He said and a hell hound's nostril flare was suddenly heard in the room. "But take it easy boy make sure to leave him with scars but TRY not to kill him. I want the Winchester's to find him in this state. So Squirrel knows never to ignore my phone calls again." He said smirking, and stepped back/

"Oh God! Please! No! Don't do this! Crowley! A-AGH!" Chuck cried out as he dashed over the back of his sofa, the stuffing flying out through claw marks the size of bear paws. He tried to get away, but it caught his leg. Blood spurted from long gashes, and Chuck had all he could do to not pass out at the sight of his own blood in that moment. But for some reason, when things got REALLY bad, he always had that burst of energy, that 'keep your eyes open and see what's happening to you' fear thing that he couldn't quite put a word to, despite his being a writer.

But then, Chuck remembered something he had seen in a vision... an incantation that sent Hell hounds away... with holy light... Chuck began to speak in Enochian, focusing hard on the words he had to remember EXACTLY as he had heard them in his vision. And soon a brilliant white light grew from his palm and he heard yelps instead of growls. He peeked his eyes open as silence filled the room, and he lowered his hand and clutched his cut up leg wincing in pain... but then he remembered Crowley was still there, and looked up to see him smiling. Chuck had given it his best effort to resist... but he would still probably die now... at the hands of Crowley... Which some writers would call poetic irony. But he just called it pathetic. Hell, Death by Crowley might even be worse than death by Hell hound... He should have just let it happen."

Crowley shook his head he walked over to Chuck and picked him up by his throat, and glared at him. "I will be back, and next time, if you don't have the Winchesters, I'll bring more of my hell hounds up to feast upon you." Crowley threatened and dropped him on the floor to bleed and walked away. "See you, Chuck. I think red looks good on you." Crowley said and vanished.

Chuck fell to the floor limply in shock, and pain... "Holy fuck...how am I alive yet?" He said and pulled himself across the floor, his torn up legs not wanting to help him move at all... He reached up and grabbed his clunky phone, and dialed Dean's number that he knew by memory. He knew all their cruddy phones numbers and he tried the first on that came to mind. Luckily Dean picked up. "Dean, Dean hey, it's Chuck. Yes, I know it's been awhile. Yeah, well I MIGHT be dead if... if Crowley comes back again... Yeah, he was here, looking for the both of you. Look, I know this is playing right into what he wants... but he brought hell hounds and they really uh... tore me up... like.. a lot.. and I don't think I can exactly explain this to a nurse, or anyone else.. so... could you... uh... sorry, my heads getting fuzzy... I- I'm at home, could you…." And with exhaustion and blood loss ebbing away at his consciousness Chuck passed out, bleeding out on his floor. With any luck, maybe the Winchesters weren't too far away, and they could help save his sorry ass.


End file.
